


Good Company

by sleuth



Category: Borderlands
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Crack Treated Seriously, Drugs, M/M, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-10-11
Updated: 2016-12-10
Packaged: 2018-08-21 20:16:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 12,643
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8259289
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sleuth/pseuds/sleuth
Summary: To Vaughn, Handsome Jack is a terrifying boss he wants nothing to do with. To Handsome Jack, Vaughn is an unimpressive loser that's fun to tease. But neither could possibly predict what would unfold after they crossed paths.





	1. Chapter 1

“It’s to improve employee morale.”

Handsome Jack rolled his eyes. That was what, like the fiftieth time he’s heard that line today? And as much as he’d love to just strangle the next person who said that to him, he decided to keep his cool. Strangling, after all, would be defeating the purpose of this thing anyway.

“Yeah, yeah,” he growled. “Just hand me my tie.”

His assistant lowered her clipboard and obeyed, striding toward him with the tie her palm. He swiped it from her and brought it around his neck, not breaking his grumpy expression to betray his smug satisfaction at actually being able to remember how to put on one of those damned things.

“Alright, let’s get this over with,” he said, sparing a glance at the mirror. He paused to look, considering his reflection. As much as he hated wearing suits, he had to admit: he looked _damn_ good in one. 

His PA messaged their driver that they were ready, and Jack gave a final adjustment of his collar and a wink at his mirror image. They exited the office, doors cascading behind them as they sealed shut, and strolled through the massive golden halls, carried away down the glass elevator, and into Handsome Jack’s own private lot. His driver pulled close toward them in a sleek car, black and slender like a bullet in the night. His assistant gracefully entered behind the driver; Handsome Jack plopped onto the seat beside her. She scrolled through her tablet to open the schedule for the night.

“We’ll arrive at our destination at 17:45, giving us some time to have a quick security debriefing. At 18:00, you will make your entrance and have some time to mingle with the department heads. You will deliver your speech at 18:30, and dinner begins at 19:00. You are expected to stick around until 20:00, but knowing you, the driver will be ready for you much earlier than that.”

Handsome Jack grunted, listening just enough to get the gist of the ordeal. His assistant passed another tablet to Jack, the speech opening on-screen. He pulled his reading glasses from his pocket and skimmed through the words. _Blah blah blah, employees import asset, blah blah productivity blah blah long list of names blah blah blah._

“The board expects you to read that speech carefully,” she said, eyeing him. “The entire purpose of this—“

“Is to improve morale. Jesus, Natalie, I know.” Handsome Jack loosened his tie in exasperation. Then he tightened it again.

Natalie rolled her eyes. “I keep repeating it because you seem to keep _forgetting_. Remember what happened last time there was a conference?”

Handsome Jack smirked. Oh, he remembered all right. How could he forget the looks on their faces after he stabbed the waiter with his fork? God, that was _great_.

“It’s not funny,” his assistant snapped. 

“Oh, c’mon. It’s not like anyone got shot.” He chuckled. “That time.”

She shot him a look, and Handsome Jack sighed. “Alright, alright. I’ll be on my best behavior. Promise.”

“You better. Human resources is not happy.”

“Anything to get those assholes to just shut up already.”

Human resources at Hyperion had always been disproportionately small—even smaller than before Handsome Jack became CEO. As tempting as it was to put them out of operation completely, he knew that if people felt like their complaints were actually listened to, it made everyone happier—regardless if any improvements were actually made. More than anything else, human resources was an illusion to make employees feel like they were individuals rather than just pawns in a massive totalitarian money making machine—which they _totally_ were. But of course, maintaining that illusion took work. And as much as Handsome Jack would love to just throw all his critics out the airlock, he knew it was in his best interest to play along with the sham.

Thus birthed the idea of an annual formal dinner to recognize the best of Hyperion’s employees. It was a genius idea, really—make employees work harder to compete for the possibility of meeting their hero, Handsome Jack, in person. Make them feel like someone actually gis a damn about them. Make ‘em feel _special_. Some were selected specifically, most at random. One or two from each department: marketing, engineering, design, production, research and development, quality control, safety, accounting and finance, human resource management (hah!), purchasing, and so forth. In the end, it resulted in about twenty recognized employees—along with all the department heads, the board of directors, all their spouses, and of course, Handsome Jack himself.

_At least there will be alcohol_ , Jack thinks to himself as he mulls over the speech a second time.

They arrive with a few minutes to spare. Natalie, ever opting for rigor over rest, insists on meeting with the chief of security at the hotel the moment they arrive. With a quick run-down on evacuation plans, emergency exits, and other boring details Handsome Jack couldn’t be arsed to fully pay attention to, it was high time to enter the main hall where the banquet was held. Handsome Jack was at least glad for that. He ate before his arrival—not caring to share a complete meal with such company—but was still looking forward to trying some hors d’oeuvres. And deserts. Though his doctor did recommend he started watching what he ate, his cholesterol was a bit high—ah to hell with it. Tonight is special, or something. 

With a wave of his hand, all the waiters within the vicinity rushed over. They bowed low, presenting the small foods while doing their best to keep themselves from shaking out of the typical combination of insurmountable fear and unabashed adoration that Handsome Jack’s underlings generally displayed. Handsome Jack wagged his finger back and forth like a focusing compass, though he admittedly had no idea what the hell any of these things were. He randomly snapped up one here and there, shoving them in his mouth.

“Mn, not bad,” he said, food still rolling around in his mouth. “Lay off the salt a little next time though, would ya, Luigi?” He gave a playful slap to the back of the nearest waiter, whose thick black moustache practically stood on end in surprise.

“Alright, get outta here. Go on, shoo.” He flicked the air dismissively. The waiters stood up straight, and scrambled away in a hurry. Handsome Jack rolled his eyes. As much as he enjoyed having groveling, obedient minions doing his every whim, they were boring at best and irritating at worst. His hand twitched at his side where he usually kept a pistol. _No, no killing tonight_ , he reminded himself and sighed.

“Everything alright, Jack?” his assistant, Natalie, asked. Her tone barely hid her exasperation.

“Just peachy,” he said, enthusiasm matched

At least there was Natalie. She used to be like them—in awe and terror of his presence—for a time, however short it was. But to be a decent PA, you had to have, as counter-intuitive as it seemed, a degree of independent thought. He couldn’t have a timid mouse surround him at all times, afraid the slightest movement might set him off. Those who were unable to get used to him only got in his way—and ultimately, thrown out the airlock.

Handsome Jack went through a _lot_ of personal assistants. Until Natalie, that is. She was smart, adapted quickly to her new position, and was not phased by his erratic behavior. He needed someone who wouldn’t just meekly sit by and be his yes-man while he burned all of Helios to the ground in a moment of passion. He needed someone to keep him on track, who wouldn’t put up with his bullshit, who would order him to do the things he knew needed to be done but didn’t want to do.

He would never admit it, but being Handsome Jack’s personal assistant was a lot like being a baby sitter.

“Your speech is in ten minutes,” she reminded him.

Jack pinched the bridge of his nose, bracing himself to fake his way through whatever drivel they’d written for him. “Yeah, yeah.” 

As Natalie left, he forced a grin on his face and he strode over to greet a few department heads that were chattering away about some boring topic that none of them actually cared about. _Morale_ , he thought bitterly. 

 

\----

 

“’Dear Valued Hyperion Employee’—hah, yeah right.’”

When Vaughn first started working at Hyperion, a letter like this would have made him giddier than a child in a candy factory. But after several years in one of the most underappreciated departments at Hyperion—except for maybe janitors and the mail room—he’s become a little jaded.

He didn’t dislike Hyperion, of course. It was pretty great. Spiffy offices, good salary, even paid off his student loans. He’d lived better than he had in his entire life. But he couldn’t help but roll his eyes at his coworkers who thought working at Hyperion made you the center of the universe. They are all just pawns. Himself included, of course—but he’s comfortable, and has accepted his fate.

“’You are cordially invited to attend the first annual Employee Appreciation Ceremony at the Theia Hotel next Friday…’” his voice trailed off, skimming through the rest of the letter silently.

“Employee appreciation ceremony?” another voice popped up. “I didn’t get any mail like that. What else does it say?”

“Apparently I’ve been selected to attend some sort of ritual. Maybe I’ll be sacrificed.”

“ _Vaughn_.”

“Fine, _Rhys_ ,” he said with a sigh. “We have specially selected the twenty best performing employees at Hyperion. We extend our congratulations as we celebrate the very heart of Hyperion—you! Food and drinks will be provided, as well as a special appearance from Handsome Jack himself. Doors open at five, dinner served at seven.’”

As he rattled off the rest of the letter, he glanced back up at his friend. Rhys was staring at him, eyes wide and expression blank. Vaughn shifted uncomfortably.

“Rhys…?”

“Vaughn,” he said, gripping him by the shoulders “Do. You. Know. What. This. _Means_?!”

“Uh…”

“You get to meet Handsome Jack!!!” he shook him more, a wide grin on his face.

Vaughn didn’t even think about that. “Oh.”

“Oh?! Just oh? Dude, you are like, living the dream right now.”

“Your dream maybe.” He shrugged.

“Pfft yeah, me and like, every person on Helios. And then some.”

“I dunno, Rhys. I’m not really… into stuff like this,” Vaughn admitted, feeling awkward.

“So you… don’t want to meet Handsome Jack?”

He might as well be speaking in another language. Rhys may have been his best friend, but he didn’t know how he was supposed to explain the way he felt to literally the biggest Handsome Jack fanboy he has ever met—and working for Hyperion, that was really, _really_ saying something.

“It’s not like that, I just…” Vaughn sighed, gathering his thoughts. “I just never had the desire to? Like, honestly, it seems kind of terrifying. You’ve heard the stories.”

“Heh, yeah,” Rhys chuckled, all the more enamored with the CEO as he recalls instances where Jack threw employees out the airlock, or scooped out that one guy’s eyeballs with a spoon, or when he stabbed that waiter with a fork… Sometimes, Vaughn felt a little worried about Rhys. He supposed maybe, it was a good thing that he was the one who got the letter, instead of him.

Or at least, that was what he thought back then, a whole week before the event. Now that he was here, in the largest hotel he’s ever seen, he felt completely out of place in his ill-fitting rented tuxedo among all these sharply dressed people. He could hardly believe any of them came from as lowly positions as he did—then again, it was the Hyperion way to act like the hottest shit in the solar system—second only to Handsome Jack, of course. Oh Christ, he nearly forgot about him. Maybe if he hid in the back behind the crowd he wouldn’t even be seen.

Fortunately, the plan was so far working. He hadn’t seen the man yet, though he did occasionally glance around nervously at his surroundings. He was being completely ignored, but simultaneously felt like he stuck out like a sore thumb. He kept taking hors d’oeuvres from waiters to occupy his hands, and after he decided he had enough he started drinking some of the chardonnay. He tried sipping it first, elegantly, copying the way others held their glasses. That didn’t last either, and he ended up downing them quickly out of nervousness.

“Alright people, gather round!” a boisterous voice called out.

Vaughn turned around, looking up in the direction of the oddly familiar sound. He nearly froze when he saw to whom the voice belonged—it was really _him_.

Handsome Jack himself. Rhys would always fawn over him and to be honest, Vaughn never really got it. But here, in person, with his hair slicked back neatly and dressed in a black three-piece suit, he had to admit, he was rather… handsome. And tall—almost as much as Rhys, maybe even more.

The crowd began applauding their CEO’s arrival, who smiled mildly and gave a wave. Vaughn steadied himself against the table. He deeply began to regret his choice of beverages.

“Alright, alright, settle down, kiddos,” he said, and crowd calmed. He flashed a grin, then began. “When I became CEO of Hyperion six years ago, I had a dream. To save the people of Elpis, and bring order to Pandora.”

He paused thoughtfully. Everyone nodded.

“The former has been done, and the latter is well on its way to being realized. And that is all thanks to the dedication and hard work of our employees—no, our _family_.”

The crowd gave a cheer. Vaughn rolled his eyes. As if Handsome Jack would be thankful to _anyone_.

“Despite the opposition I— _we_ —faced, we were able to conquer those who stood in our way. Victorious! And we will continue to be so, with employees like you making the backbone of Hyperion. I thank you all for joining me this evening. It is a privilege to be your CEO.” He gave a curt nod, and stepped down, shooting a wink. Applause pattered out through the crowd, with a few whistles thrown in, until dinner was announced.

It seemed that all around him, his coworkers had listened thoughtfully, perfectly entranced by Handsome Jack’s speech. He may have been too—he did admit, he had a way with words when he wanted to—if it wasn’t for his rising blood alcohol levels.

In truth, he just wanted this evening to be over with. He wanted to go home and listen to the newest episode of his favourite ECHOcast, and see his cat, and then sleep off the day. He knew Rhys would chide him. Thinking of his friend made his stomach twist with guilt. The entire week, Rhys kept mentioning how jealous he was to meet Handsome Jack in person, and what an honour it must have been, and how proud he was. But honestly? Vaughn would rather make acquaintances with a rabid skag than see Handsome Jack face to face. At least with a skag, he would know what to expect.

Not the case with Handsome Jack. The CEO was hotheaded, impulsive, unpredictable. Sure, he seems charming enough—but without a moment’s notice he’ll bite your head off. Maybe literally. Vaughn certainly had no intention of ever getting in the crossfire.

So as dinner was being served, Vaughn elected to sit the farthest back he possibly could—which was unfortunately, still by the alcohol. But resisting the temptation was too hard, and hell if he could bear watching any of these smug self-satisfied bastards while he was anything but smashed to shit. He’d probably embarrass himself, but he figured that’d happen one way or another anyway. He nibbled idly at his salad in between more sips of chardonnay, appetite completely lost by the alcohol.

After dinner came the awkward mingling, of which Handsome Jack himself took part. He shook a few hands of some of the other guests, who beamed with overenthusiasm. Vaughn hid himself behind the nearest crowd, who didn’t so much spare him a glance. His fingers tapped idly at his chardonnay glass. He took the occasional sip, needing something to occupy himself, but tried not to get even more plastered—lord knew how much longer he could stay standing at this rate.

Before he knew it, a looming presence sent a chill up his spine and a massive hand appeared to grasp a glass beside him. Handsome Jack stood over him, a knowing smile tugging at his lips. Up close, he was more imposing than ever. Vaughn gaped. 

“Now here’s a guy after my own heart,” he said, regarding him with mismatched eyes. He chuckled.

Vaughn opened his mouth to speak. He could barely muster the weakest of sounds. “I…”

“Don’t think I didn’t see you back here, getting shitfaced,” he interjected, slapping him on the back a little too hard. Vaughn gripped the table, dazed.

Handsome Jack dropped back his head and downed the drink in a matter of seconds. He slammed it back down on the table, only to grab another to do the same. Vaughn watched in a mixture of confusion and horror. Jack noticed immediately.

“Hey bud, don’t let me stop you. You probably want more, right?”

“Uh… I, I think I’ve had enough,” Vaughn stammered.

Jack barked a laugh. “Hah! C’mon, the night is still young. You don’t have to hold back just cos I’m like, your boss and all. Say, what’s your name anyway? What department are you in?” He rested a hand on Vaughn’s shoulder, who stiffened at the contact.

“Vaughn, sir—I mean, Handsome Jack. And um, accounting.”

Another laugh. “Accounting? No shit! I didn’t take you nerds were the partying type.”

Vaughn’s mind instantly flashed back to the time the entire accounting office took part in a dramatic finger-gun battle. He sighed. “No, we’re not.”

“Listen, Shaun—“

“It’s Vaughn.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Jack waved with a grin, taking a third glass. “How bout you join me for a little after party? We’ll ditch this snooze-fest, hit up the best clubs in town. Have some real fun. What d’ya say?”

Vaughn opted to take another drink rather than give an answer. He guzzled it down, Jack crying out “atta boy!” and he slammed it down on the table, an imitation of the CEO’s own gesture.

“Sure,” he said.

“Fuck yeah, buddy!” Jack slapped him on the back again, nearly knocking Vaughn off his feet. “You ‘n me. I’m gonna show you a great time. Really put some hairs on your chest.”

Fuck. Shit. Why did Vaughn say that? He could slap himself in the face, he was so stupid. But then again, who could possibly say no to _Handsome Fucking Jack_?! No matter how much alcohol he consumed to cloud his judgement, he knew he would regret this later.

 

\--------

As soon as he laid eyes on him, Jack knew that he could not just let this poor sucker go in peace. Hell, be almost felt sorry for him. His suit was obviously rented: too baggy in the shoulders but too short on the arms. His hair cut was cheap, falling out of place. He was fidgeting, eyes flicking across the room like a lost puppy. He was swaying, cheeks flushed from consuming the chardonnay that he had been standing by all evening.

He decided to approach him. He just couldn’t resist. And the way he jumped where he stood made it _so_ worth it. Jack nearly laughed in his face for it, but decided to join him instead. He took a drink, encouraged the kid to do the same. He was surprised he wasn’t as loosened up by now, but he supposed his presence tended to have that effect.

And of course, like the glaring stereotype this nerd was, he had to be an _accountant_. Hot damn. This was just _too_ good.

The poor sap was lucky he was feeling so generous—or maybe this ridiculous “morale booster” was getting to him. He decided to invite him to a night on the town. Give the kid a little confidence, maybe even help him get laid. So he dragged him outside the hotel, smirking widely when his driver cocked an eyebrow at the guest. But the man behind the wheel stayed quiet, zipping them away to the usual destination.

To tell the truth, Jack was getting a bit too old for these kinds of parties. He was forty. It was hard to admit to himself he was past his prime—if only by a bit. The thought just made him want to party all the more, while he still can.

Of course, he had his obligations. He knew that. But who could blame him for wanting to have some fun? Blow off some steam? And the temptation was all the more so after spending an evening trying to butter up the asses of his own employees. They should be doing that for _him_ —not that they don’t. Constantly. _Every day_. Sigh, yet another reason to drink.

Jack took Ron—no, Vaughn—to one of the sleazier clubs he owned on Helios (and of course, he owned all of them). He dragged him out by his too-long sleeves and shoved him through the front doors before the accountant could even process what was happening.

“Welcome, to The Prancing Buttstallion,” Jack announced with great pride, gesturing widely to the surrounding debauchery. Music pulsed through eardrums, men and women adorned (however sparsely) in bright yellow twisted their hips around poles, crowds laughed and shouted and the scent of alcohol rich in the air.

Normally, Vaughn would turn and run in such a situation, where he was so completely overwhelmed and out of place. But the haze that’s clouded his judgement combined with the fact he is, after all, with _Handsome Fucking Jack_ , all he could manage from his lips was a dumb “Wow.”

Jack chuckled. He elbowed Vaughn in the shoulder. “See something you like?”

Vaughn shut his gaping mouth, face hot with embarrassment or alcohol but certainly not because of the view. He glanced away, eyes settling at his feet on the sticky floor.

“Hey, I ain’t here to judge! C’mere, take a seat, I’ll order us a drink and maybe something extra.”

Vaughn obeyed for lack of knowing just what else to do. He was thankful for the seat, head swimming with the music and lights and—mother of Pandora, is it even physically possible for a man to bend back that far?

Handsome Jack caught him staring and shot him a wink. He slid over a wad of cash in his direction. “Why don’t you go buy us a couple drinks? I’ll take whatever.”

“Um, sure thing,” Vaughn replied, and rose reluctantly from his seat, looking about him before deciding which direction the bartender was in.

Jack rolled his eyes at his cluelessness, but still smiled nonetheless. He beckoned the male dancer over with a wave of his hand, whose eyes lit up in recognition. He made a show of waving his hips as he trotted over, sliding down to meet his eye level.

“My, my, you’re even more handsome in person,” the dancer purred, lifting up Jack’s chin with a finger.

Jack flashed a wicked grin. “That’s what they all say, darling.” His eyes flickered to the empty seat beside him, nearly forgetting about his guest. “But tonight, I’d like you to do me a favour.”

The dancer licked his lips. “Anything for you, handsome.”

Jack barked a laugh. “Not that kinda favour, honey. You seen the scrawny kid who was sitting next to me earlier?”

“The lost puppy with the glasses?”

“Yup. I’d like you to show him a good time. Get him to loosen up a little. Honestly? I think the kid might still be a virgin.”

The dancer laughed. “Oh, Jack, you _know_ I don’t do charity cases.”

“C’monnn,” Jack said, tilting his head in an easy smile. He “I’ll pay you. _Handsomely_.” He waggled his brows at him, unable to suppress his amusement at his own pun.

The dancer’s eyes widened, catching the innuendo with a grin. “In cash,” he stated firmly.

“Yeah, yeah,” Jack said, but chuckled nonetheless, shoving forward a few crumpled hundred bills in his hand before giving his ass a playful swat. The dancer squawked in surprise but giggled nonetheless, and he rose and disappeared off stage in preparation for his next dance—one he usually reserved solely for VIPs like Jack himself.

Vaughn came back with two bright blue drinks. Jack patted his seat excitedly.

“Hell yeah, my man,” he said as he gripped his drink. “Fuckin Cryo Thunder, good taste! I have ‘em make it with shuggarath dust, shit feels like lightning in your mouth, ice in your throat, then fireworks in your brain!” He laughs, downing the beverage in one go. _Then later, a tsunami out your asshole_.

“Wait, what?”

“Shh,” Jack interrupted his thought, shoving a finger to Vaughn’s lips as the lights dimmed. “Show’s about to start.”

\-------

Vaughn squinted in the dark, taking a tentative sip of his drink (what did Jack say was in it again?). He immediately clapped a hand over his lips. He had to suppress a cry, eyes watering as he swallowed hard. Oh shit, Jack wasn’t exaggerating when he said it felt like lightning! Vaughn sipped again. He rubbed his eyes and the lights came on again, dim and dancing across the stage in gold and silver. A low beat started, bold and deep and he felt the tremble of the bass make its way up his seat. A melody joined with it, light and slow. From the stage he emerged: a stranger in black and yellow, leather and silk. A draping robe, too sheer to hide the corset beneath. Like a panther stalks his prey, he walked forward, one foot directly in front of the other. Surveying the crowd. Half lidded eyes and lips embellished with a smirk.

He was handsome, Vaughn thought. He glanced nervously to the company on his left. _But not as handsome as Jack_. Jack’s eyes flickered back to meet his own, raising an inquisitive brow at him. Vaughn held his breath and looked back at the stage, hoping the CEO could not hear his thoughts.

The dancer caught on as well, eyes glancing between the two with an unimpressed expression that quickly melted back into a practiced smile. As the music suddenly gained place, he moved his arms, the sleeves of his robe flowing about his body, until it was shrugged off and tossed into the crowd. Rolling his muscled shoulders, he leaned back to show off his chest and elegant legs, until he gripped the pole behind him and flung himself up suddenly.

Vaughn sat up, surprised by the sudden display of gymnastics. He felt mesmerized by the grace of the dancer, the seamless way his movements shifted from rapid twirls to slow waves, sweat mixing with glitter under the spotlight transforming him into something more than human, something ethereal, like the stories of sirens tearing through reality.

“Wow,” he whispered and took another drink, sparks in his mouth like echoes bouncing off the stage.

Somehow, Jack was able to hear his remark over the music. He leaned over, chin perched on his hand. “Enjoying the show, kitten?” he purred.

“Oh—yeah,” Vaughn blurted.

“Good. Y’know, I ordered it ‘specially for you.” A warm hand pressed against Vaughn’s shoulder, rubbing slow circles into his back.

“Oh,” was all he managed in response, between the sudden contact and the way the dancer shot up his leg as he slid down the pole to collapse on the floor, draping his body over the stage. The crowd hollered and whistled. Legs still splayed in a perfect split, his abdominals flexed and back curved as pulled himself upright. He twisted his body, limbs gathering beneath him again until he stood tall. He took a moment to shower in the praise of the crowd before he resumed, eyes transfixed on his target. Vaughn suddenly realized the implication of Jack’s words as the man strode toward him, a smirk lighting up his features. The dancer shot Jack a quick glance before locking back on Vaughn, who froze in his seat. He lifted his leg, pressing the toe of his high leather boot to Vaughn’s chest to shove him backward. Vaughn gripped the edge of his chair and swallowed, eyes tracing the leg from the toe up to where the end of the boot hugged his thighs. He exhaled roughly, and when he looked up the dancer shot him a wink and he realized how hot he suddenly felt. He then suddenly turned away, walking back. Before Vaughn could so much as sigh in relief, the sway of his body to the music carried him right back. He couldn’t help but gape as the man on stage worked his hands up his own thighs, around his undulating hips, and pulled the lace of his corset, one hand removing the garment as the other stroked up his chest. More whistles from the crowd. Now all that concealed his body were the tall boots and impossibly tight, tiny leather shorts. The dancer came closer to him, dancing seductively in front of him and leaning over to occasionally brush a hand against his cheek, or shoulder, or thigh. Full lips moved along with the words, mirroring his facial expressions from coy to lustful. As the song reached his conclusion he shot Vaughn a final wink before making a sharp exit. The room darkened again and the crowd broke in an uproarious cheer.

Jack sat back and clapped, laughing. “Oh man, kid,” he said finally, wiping a tear from his eye. “You shoulda seen the look on your face!”

Vaughn brought a hand to his lips, as if to hide his embarrassment. “I need some water,” he stammered, rising from his seat to find the bar again.

“Yeah, sure, whatever you say,” Jack said, still chuckling. “I’m gonna go downstairs. Do some dancing. Don’t take too long, princess.” He winked at him again.

 

Vaughn downed two glasses of water before rushing to the restroom to relieve himself—and not in the way Jack was implying. He splashed water on his face, staring at himself in the mirror. Cheeks still flushed pink. God, he was way too fucked up. He needed to go home. What time was it anyway?

He hadn’t drunk so much since college. He was even scrawnier then, but was blessed with an iron stomach and when Rhys dragged him out to party he could manage to out drink most engineers. But he always focused more on keeping his GPA up than socializing with the help of alcohol, and now at Hyperion the focus on work was even greater. He couldn’t even remember the last time he went out.

Vaughn closed his eyes for a moment until his head was no longer swimming Thoughts collected and feeling slightly sobered up (but still incapable of walking in a straight line), he exited the restroom. The dancing lights and loud music jarred once more against his senses, but he kept focused on his mission: find his boss and get out. Lord knows that if he left the CEO passed out somewhere and forgotten, he would be flayed and thrown out the airlock by one of Jack’s bodyguards, or his many rabid adoring fans, or perhaps the man himself when he comes to his senses. Plus, he had no idea how to get home from here. He didn’t even know where he _was_.

He squirmed his way through the crowds, for once thankful of his small stature. He made his way toward the stairs that lead to the dance floor, gripping the railing to steady his descent. He looked about the crowd, a mass of gyrating bodies in the dark, and found himself enveloped among them before he could even process the scene. He had no idea where Jack was in all of this mess—he figured how hard to find could he possibly be? The man was ridiculously tall, loud, was the center of attention everywhere he went, and wore a _mask_ for fuck’s sake. You never needed to find Handsome Jack—his presence was always announced before you in the most theatrical way possible. But all about Vaughn were strangers, dancing in the dark, some paired off as they clung to one another, others with curious hands that searched all who passed by. Lonely souls searching for fleeting companionship.

One of those hands landed on his shoulders, giving Vaughn a start.

“Jack?” he began, but instead a tall, lean woman appeared before him, facial piercings glimmering in the dark—wait, was she dressed like a _pirate_?

“Oh, honey, I’m not Jack,” she giggled, barely audible over the music. “Sorry to startle you, you’re just _soooo_ adorable, I love the whole nerd shtick! It looks totally great on you, real convincing!” She waved her hands as she spoke, bright red hair flashing over her shoulders.

“Uhh,” Vaughn said. “I’m—I’m looking for—“

“What?”

Ugh, this was hopeless. As if he could ever get help in a sea of people even drunker than he was where no one could even hear him. He cursed himself for being naturally soft spoken.

“C’mon, dance with me! Just a bit. My ex-girlfriend is over there and I wanna make her jealous! She always had a thing for nerds,” she laughed, grabbing his hands and yanking him away. Vaughn shrugged, having no choice but to be swept away. Might as well try to have some fun while it lasted.

Satisfied with their new location, the woman gave a flourish with her hands and began to sway her hips. She danced naturally to the music, lost in the beat as well as the crowd. Vaughn tried to copy a few of her movements, as well as the other people around her, but mostly stuck to awkwardly shifting in place.

“Don’t be shy, put your arms up! Like this!” she shouted, and gave a demonstration. Vaughn was too distracted by the massive claw attached to her left arm to notice exactly what she did.

She caught him staring, her playful grin suddenly vanishing from her face.

“Sorry,” he stammered, embarrassed. Idiot, how could he be so insensitive?

“Oh, don’t worry bout it, love!” she said, giving him a pat. “If I didn’t want people to notice me, I would’ve got just a boring old regular cybernetic arm. A giant claw is much more fun, don’t you think? Plus it’s much better at disemboweling anyone who betrays me!” she laughed.

Vaughn didn’t. She noticed that, too.

“Aw, I’m just kiddin! …Kinda! But I wouldn’t do that to you!”

“Umm,” he said after a while, looking about him uncomfortably. “Have you seen Jack anywhere?”

Mercifully, she gave no heed to the sudden change in subject. “Handsome Jack? Yeah!” she gave a wave of her arms, Vaughn stepping back to keep distance from her claw. “Oh my god, just a few moments ago I saw him snorting cyro shrooms off a stripper’s ass! It was hil-ARIOUS!”

“ _What?!_ ”

“Oh, sorry, my bad! I mean, exotic dancer. Meant no offense.”

Vaughn pushed passed her, determination suddenly coursing through his blood. That absolute _idiot_. He just didn’t know when to quit. Quickly frustrated with the crowd and flashing lights, Vaughn gave up on searching the dance floor. He wandered the edges of the area before tapering off into the VIP section.

“Ahem,” a gruff voice behind him spoke. Vaughn turned around, looking up at an absolutely _massive_ man dressed in black from head to toe. “This area is VIPs _only_.”

Vaughn tried to speak, but his throat went dry. Oh, god. He was going to die here. But before he could make an excuse or a quick escape, a voice rang out across the room.

“Hey man, it’s fiiine! That’s my buddy, Don!” 

The bouncer looked up, and the harsh lines of his face faded like an abated storm. “Right, of course, sir. My apologies. Go right ahead.”

“Sean! My man! Get over here!”

Handsome Jack. Of course. In the back of the VIP lounge he sat, smack in the middle of a large red booth filled to the brim with company. Among him were people he didn’t recognize, maybe celebrities, some in sharp suits and others in flashy outfits. A few spared a bored glance his way, others ignored him outright. All attention was fixated on Jack.

“Vaughn! Have a seat,” he patted the seat of the booth. He motioned for people on one end of the booth to scoot.

Vaughn approached reluctantly before carefully perching himself at the very edge, legs straining to keep him from falling off. The woman beside him scooted in further, shrinking away from physical contact rather than offering more space.

“Anyway, where was I? Oh yeah, and that’s when I shot the priest! Hahaha man, that was great. Best wedding I’d been to yet!” He sat back, taking a sip of his drink. 

“Uhhh, Jack?” Vaughn peeped. His eyes darted but he was determined not to, despite the judgemental stares of his company.

“’Sup?” Jack gestured with a hand. Even seated, his movements were swaying and he could barely keep his eyes open. A dumb grin was plastered on his face.

Vaughn took in a breath and reached over the table, taking Jack’s glass away from him. Jack laughed. “Hey buddy, if you wanted a drink you coulda just asked! Hey waiter, another round over—“

“Jack, wait. Could I uh…” He glanced around him. “Could I talk to you?”

“Go ahead, man!” he said. After a moment’s pause he caught on to his words’ meaning. “Ohhh. Right. Alone. Gotcha. Kay everybody, scram! Gotta talk to my main man here. _Mano a mano_.”

Vaughn rose momentarily to let everyone pile out, chattering amongst themselves. He sighed and sat back down again, this time directly across from Jack.

“Havin’ fuuuun?”

“Jack, we should go.”

“Aw c’mon. Party just started.”

“Jack, it’s like, 3 AM.”

“Honey, I can go all night.” He licked his lips and raised his brows at him.

Vaughn rolled his eyes, ignoring the innuendo. “Jack, you’re barely conscious. Call your driver, we need to go.”

“Pff, fine. But just cos _you_ wanna leave, not me. I’m a gracious host! Gotta take care of my guest.” Jack reached over to give Vaughn a pat on the shoulder.

“Call your driver.”

“Kaaaay, fine,” he tapped at his watch, furrowed his brows, tapped more. It took him a couple minutes to get it right, but eventually his fingers managed the right combination.

“Heyyyy. Gavin. Gabe. Galadriel. What’s-yer-name,” Jack slurred into his watch.

Vaughn heard a groan on the other end. “It’s _Gavrill_ ,” the voice said.

“Yeah, yeah, anyway Avril, can you like…” Jack trailed off, searching the scene around him in confusion. “Hey Vaughn, what was I supposed to ask again?”

Vaughn pinched the bridge of his nose. This night wasn’t going to get much shorter.

“I’ll be there in ten minutes,” Gavrill said, not needing further clarification. “And please don’t make me drag you out of there myself.”

“Naw, it’ll be fine,” Jack said. “I got Vaughny-boy here to do it.” 

“Hmph.” Gavrill hung up with an unassured grunt.

“He’s always like that,” Jack said to Vaughn. “Y’know, I’ve tried draggin’ him out here. But he’s no fun. Says he’s got like, a job or whatever. Pfft, I know that. I’m his friggin’ boss!” he laughed. “Not you though. You’re fun. You know how to have a good time, am I right?” Jack tried to give Vaughn a playful punch on the shoulder, but missed.

Vaughn forced a smile. It was weird, how this man—so charismatic, larger than life, utterly terrifying—seemed suddenly so much like a child. A child stoned and drunk out of his fucking mind, and currently falling asleep on a table in the back of a strip club.

Silence fell between them. Vaughn rose from his seat. He went to Jack’s side of the table, shaking his shoulder gently. “Come on, it’s time to go.”

Jack groaned. At least he was still conscious, mostly.

With a sigh, Vaughn put an arm around him and pulled him out of his seat.

“Can you walk?”

“Ugh,” was all Jack managed, but was able to take some slow steps, leaning heavily on his far shorter companion. The bouncer from earlier graciously showed him a back door, bidding them a good night. He didn’t dare lay a hand on the CEO, as greatly appreciated as his help would be. Vaughn gave the man a polite nod anyway. Jack on the other hand, made no response.

Vaughn took a deep breath of the night air, cold and refreshing. Jack shifted, standing up straighter while keeping a hand on his companion’s shoulder. He squinted, looking into the night.

“There’s Gavrill,” Jack mumbled. Vaughn followed his gaze, spying the sleek black vehicle slowly driving up toward them. Gavrill pulled over, lowering the window to gesture with his head. _Get in_.

Vaughn opened door and helped Jack in his seat, who immediately slouched over. He closed the door, walked to the other side, and got in.

“Thanks for picking us up,” Vaughn said, hoping it was okay for him to tag along once more.

“Hey, thanks for keeping an eye on him. It ain’t easy, that’s for sure.” He shifted gear, backing up before turning and exiting onto the road. “So, where you live?”

The driver let out a low whistle when he told him. “Shit, that’s on the other side of town.”

“Sorry.”

“Hey man, whatever. It wasn’t your idea,” he glanced back through the mirror at Jack, who shifted a bit and sat up again.

“Hey, we’re not in the club anymore,” Jack said, rubbing at his temple.

“Nope,” Vaughn said.

Fuck dude, you’re still here?”

Vaughn bit his lip. Was he not supposed to be? Was he mad?

Then suddenly Jack laughed. “Damn, dude. You’re a trooper, y’know that?” He patted him weakly. Vaughn just sat stiffly. His glanced back up at Gavrill, who payed no mind, fully accustomed to this side of Jack.

“Man, I got real fucked up, didn’t I? Heheh…”

“Yeah,” Vaughn said, unable to suppress a laugh. “But it was… fun.” He looked out the window, smiling to himself. It was crazy, it was stressful, it was completely wild and unexpected but honestly? It kind of _was_ fun.

Jack grinned at him. “Yeah! You’re pretty cool for an accountant, y’know. I’d figure you’d all be like, a bunch of boring shit eating nerds or whatever. No offense.”

“None taken.” He was used to getting shit for it anyway. Accountants were truly the underdogs of Hyperion. He remembered the finger gun battle incident. He supposed that in many ways, their reputation was well deserved.

“Like at first,” Handsome Jack continued, “I saw you and was like, man, what a loser, right? But then I felt kinda sorry for you.”

“Uh…”

“And like, I just asked you to hang out cos I thought it’d be funny, which it totally was. But also like, I’m Handsome Fucking Jack, y’know? Everyone loves me ‘n shit, and I can get whatever I want, but like. I don’t really have any friends, y’know? It’s like… Imagine being surrounded by people who wanna suck your dick all the time just cos you’re rich and they’re hoping to get some crumbs.” He pauses, thoughtful. “Okay maybe you can’t imagine it. But anyway you—you’re different, man. You’re like, my only real friend. You get me, y’know? I used to be—I used to be like you, y’know.” He laughs. “It’s like, impossible to picture, right? But I totally was. I used to be a lowly programmer, just a little loser. I was such a dork in college, you should see the pictures. I had like, no confidence or personality. Not that you’re like that. You’re cool. But like, I figure, show you a good time, maybe you’ll get some confidence, and you do great work, I’m sure—like I don’t really know. They say at the thing, that it was all like, approved by me or whatever, but I didn’t give a shit man. No offense.”

Vaughn nodded along, trying not to seem surprised by his sudden outburst. He exchanged glances through the dashboard mirror with the driver, who shrugged his shoulders. His rambling trailed off again, becoming incoherent before trailing off entirely. Soon enough, Jack drifted back asleep, this time resting his head on Vaughn’s shoulder.

He never would have imagined this would happen to him in a million years.

The rest of the ride was peaceful, if not agonizingly slow. Vaughn dared not move a centimeter lest he disturb the CEO, who drooled contentedly away. But eventually, the journey did come to an end, the car slowing to a smooth stop.

“Here you go, lil man,” the driver announced, keeping his voice low to not disturb Jack.

“Thanks,” Vaughn said, frowning at the nickname. He shrugged carefully away from Jack, keeping him upright in his seat. Mercifully, he stayed asleep.

“Take care,” he said as he closed the car door, and the driver gave him a nod as he drove off. Vaughn watched after them, searching after the headlights that vanished in the dark. He ran a hand through his hair, exhaled a breath he didn’t realizing he was holding. Content they were finally gone, Vaughn turned to head toward his apartment building. Never had he felt such a strong longing for his bed.

_Man, Rhys was not gonna believe this._

No—he realized, shaking away the thought. He couldn’t tell Rhys. Jack would kill him. Or Rhys, out of sheer jealousy. He didn’t care to find out who would be first. But for now, he settled on passing the busted elevator and up the stairs, ducking in a hallway and creeping through the apartment door as quietly as he could without disturbing his roommate. Navigating in the dark, he walked carefully to his room and passed out as soon as he hit the mattress.  
 


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The boys ruminate on their eventful evening, only to draw their own (false) conclusions.

_Fuck_ employee morale.

It was the first thing he thought as Jack woke. His eyes peeled open with a groan, the image of his ceiling dancing slowly overhead. He lay sprawled on his bed wearing the clothes from the night before, paralyzed by the worst migraine of his life. Nausea hit him like a tidal wave as he forced his body to sit upright. Jack stumbled to the floor in his attempt to rush out of bed, scrambling across his room before he could steady himself on the doorframe of the bathroom, before finally collapsing to the floor with his face buried against the open toilet seat.

He rose to his feet with a great sense of relief. Contents of his digestive tract emptied, he began weakly rifling through his medicine cabinet for the strongest headache medication he could take without getting high. He popped open the cap, and threw two pills back. They went down his throat roughly, and he hit a fist against his chest to help himself swallow. Next stop was the kitchen, where he drank glass after glass of water before rushing off to the bathroom again to relieve his bladder.

Next was breakfast. Thankfully, he always kept a large supply of pancake batter and rakk bacon in case of a massive hangover—which tended to happen on a fairly regular basis. He started boiling water for coffee and scooping out grounds before setting to work on preparing his food. In a matter of minutes, the scent of sizzling grease and rising batter wafted through the kitchen and soothed his mind. Even when hungover and loathe to do anything but sleep all day, cooking always seemed to calm his nerves. It gave him a sense of accomplishment, whether he was preparing an intricate gourmet dish or a simple pancake breakfast. Sure, he could always have servants do it. But his home was his private domain, and no one else was permitted inside—no one. Not even the most advanced loaderbot or most trusted bodyguard. 

He sat at his dining room table, munching away contentedly at his breakfast (which of course, was drowned in excessive amounts of maple syrup) while sipping the still-steaming coffee. For a few moments, he enjoyed the simple silence of the morning (or whatever time it was—he couldn’t be bothered to go look). That is, until he began dwelling on the night before. Memories began to resurface in his mind, one blurry flash of life at a time. What the fuck did he do anyway? Whatever it was, he figured it must have been pretty wild—he hadn’t felt this level of shitty in a _long_ time. Or maybe it was—though he’d hate to admit it—because of his age.

Thankfully, he always carried his pocket watch with him. Not only did he use it to produce digital body doubles of himself when in need of a quick getaway (or to liven up a board meeting, or to just admire when alone), but also recorded audio and video of his surroundings. It was endlessly useful for business ventures, but he found it also did a splendid job of keeping track of his drunken stupors. He fished the device from his pocket and opened the display, playing a feed of the prior night. With his index finger, he swiped the pixels to speed ahead. _Work, work, meeting, yeah, yeah, boring, c’mon, where’s Handsome Drunk at?_

Ah, the employee morale banquet. More like the employee _root canal_ banquet. Heheh… heh… Okay, it could use some work. He pushed the pun in the back of his mind for later use—it was sure to get a groan from Natalie at the least. Attention undivided, he watched himself give his speech—as half-assed as it was, _damn_ , was it good. He was pretty sure he moved a few people to tears. Hell, he could feel the beginning of some waterworks himself. Or maybe he was still a bit tired.

“Wait a sec,” he muttered, suddenly remembering his task. With a flick of his fingers he zoomed in on the image, peering into the crowd with discerning eyes. He scanned the faces before him—dumb, receptive, good little sheep (god, if only they could see the expressions on their stupid faces! They were practically drooling!)—except for that one guy in the back. Damn, he was barely visible, he was so short! He zoomed in further, and the image refocused.

“That’s him!” he snapped his fingers at the revelation. That scrawny son of a bitch, _he_ was the one who got him into this mess! Jack resumed the video feed, scoffing at the pathetic image of this total loser fidgeting and drinking away, clearly so scared he was on the verge of pissing himself. Oh, _right_. That’s exactly why he walked up to him.

He chuckled as he watched the expression on the loser’s face when he saw Jack appear behind him. He replayed it a few times—he just _had_ to. “Boo!” he dubbed in, audio silenced. “ _Waaah!_ ” he imitated in response, chuckling a bit before pressing on.

For some reason, past Jack thought it was a good idea to bring this nerd along with him. Probably because he thought it’d be funny. And it was—when they walked through the door, oh, that little nerd—what was his name again? Vince? Victor?—had no idea what he was getting into. Then again, he supposed he didn’t entirely either. 

And oh man, when he got Apollo to dance for him, that was fuckin’ _priceless_. Then again, who could blame him? The guy sure had a way with his hips (which were even more amazing back stage). Jack continued the video, fast-forwarding every now and then. Yeah, it was a pretty good night. Then the image of himself snorting dope off Apollo’s ass played through, and he couldn’t help but laugh. Classic Jack. He smiled to himself, sipping the last of his coffee. He still had it.

He skipped ahead again, watching the evening gradually wind down, himself seated among celebrities—ECHO stars, supermodels, cage fighters, the like—and blabbing on and on about how great he was. _Drunk Jack brings up some great points_ , he thought as he listened.

Hey, Vince is back. Oh, the bouncer’s about to kick his ass, this should be hilarious. Wait, what? Why’d he stop him? Ah, well, Handsome Drunk must have had a better plan. But he just watched himself call him over while everyone else left. And they just sat and… talked? And woah, _woah_ , did the loser just steal his drink? And boss him around?

“Who the fuck does this guy think he is?” he growled, watching the smaller man lift him up and drag him away. And just when he thought he’d had enough, the screen showed him passed out in a car next to this dork—oh man, he was gonna _kill_ Gavrill for this one—and he hears his own voice again.

“ _You get me, y’know? I used to be—I used to be like you, y’know._ ”

Oh, Christ. He needed to go barf again.

He ran a hand through his hair, looking away while listening to his past self share way too much information to this stranger, this pathetic excuse for a Hyperion employee. He cursed himself mentally until he heard himself grow quiet. He looked up and mercifully, the little nerd left the car and all there was for him to watch was Gavrill drop him off and be thankful he could at least get himself inside. He turned the feed off, dropping his head in his hands.

This couldn’t be happening. He was Handsome _goddamn_ Jack. Your best dream, your worst nightmare. He had a reputation to uphold. He could not be humiliated like this.

Gavrill… Gravrill won’t talk. He’s seen plenty of shit. He knows how it goes. Hell, he’s seen Jack strangle his previous driver with his bare hands and didn’t even flinch. 

But this little nerd? Oh, he doubted he was much of a talker—and even if he did, no one would ever believe him. Hell, his own reputation would be ruined for even suggesting such a wild story. However, Jack could not simply let him go unpunished. Luckily for little… what was his name again? Oh yes, _Vaughn_ , luckily for him, Jack was a merciful man. A _reasonable_ man.

He could manage this. No problem. Normally, when he wanted intel on someone he’d send some lackey to do it for him. But this… This was too personal. No, this task he had to do himself. No action would be taken—not yet, not right away. He would simply observe the nerd—Vaughn—see what he gets up to, what makes him tick. You can’t be too careful after all. Hyperion has had its fair share of moles, and Vaughn would make for a perfect one. And if he was, he had hit the jackpot.

 

\---

 

“Vaughn?”

The voice calling to him seemed so distant. Was he still dreaming? His hands fumbled against his surroundings, and he realized he was in his bed.

A few knocks, then his name again: “Vaughn? Buddy? You in there? It’s like, two PM, dude.”

Vaughn groaned in response, rolling out of bed and trudging miserably to the door. It slid open with the press of a button, and he leant on the door frame for support.

“Hahaha, wow,” Rhys widened his eyes and placed his hands on his hips. “Had fun last night?”

Vaughn just glared at him, lacking the energy to come up with a snarky comeback.

“Don’t give me that look,” Rhys said. “You came home at like, three last night.”

Vaughn shrugged.

Rhys sighed. “Kay bro, you take a shower and I’ll make some coffee. But when you’re in a better mood, you’ve _got_ to tell me how it went. In detail.”

Rhys turned on his heel to leave, and Vaughn shut the door. He collapsed face-first back on his mattress again, letting himself wallow in his misery before succumbing to the call of his bladder. Shucking off his clothes, he made his way to the bathroom to relieve himself and turned on the shower. Steam filled the tiny room, and he stepped in and pressed his face against the cool tile, focusing on the sensation of the hot water against his back. He took his sweet time standing there, steam soothing his headache and sore body. He nearly fell asleep again, but felt his skin start pruning, so he stepped out and dried off. He kicked his abandoned suit out of the way, sliding on some sweatpants and a hoodie from his college days, and felt ready to face reality again. 

He opened the door, stepping out with a yawn. Before he could announce his presence, he was interrupted by a sudden noise.

His stomach grumbled loudly.

Rhys must’ve heard it, too, because he could hear his stifled laughter from across the apartment. Vaughn let himself chuckle too as Rhys poured him coffee into a mug.

“Thanks, bro.”

“There’s cold pizza in the fridge, too.”

“You’re a life saver.”

Vaughn shuffled into the kitchen, swinging open the refrigerator door. He took out the pizza box, ripping a slice and nibbling the edge as he poured cream and sugar in his coffee and stirred. Caffeine and food in hand, he moved to the kitchen table, settling down with a plop and sipping the hot coffee contentedly.

Rhys perched himself the other end of the table, steepling his fingers. Their eyes met, a look of expectation lighting up his face. Vaughn couldn’t help but roll his eyes, setting the mug down.

“Well?” Rhys said, wiggling his brows up and down.

“Ugh, god,” Vaughn muttered. He spent his time in the shower trying to think of how to tell his friend of all the crazy bullshit that happened last night, but fell short (but thankfully, not asleep).

“ _Vaaaaauughn_ ,” Rhys groaned, slouching back dramatically.

“Okay, okay,” he said. “Just… gimme a minute.”

Rhys sighed impatiently. Vaughn swallowed more pizza, then cleared his throat.

“Last night, uh…” he let his eyes wander, as if the ceiling contained the answers to his dilemma. “It was pretty weird.”

“What happened? Was Handsome Jack there?” his roommate demanded, on the edge of his seat.

“Yeah, yeah.”

“Oh my god.” He paused a moment to take it in. “What did he do? Did he say anything?”

“Yeah, he like, gave a speech.”

“Wow. What’d he say?”

“Ugh, I dunno… It was like, some bullshit about bringing order to Pandora, and facing opposition, and how we’re all _soooo_ great, blah blah blah.”

Rhys gave a nod. Go on.

“Yeah, he was like,” Vaughn sat up, trying to give his best Handsome Jack impression (which consisted of him just deepening his voice and waving his hands), “’It is a privilege to be your CEO.’”

“Huh. That _is_ weird,” Rhys admitted. At least even he knew the extent of Jack’s arrogance.

Vaughn shook his head. “No, no. That wasn’t the weird part.” 

Rhys quirked a brow as Vaughn considered how to tell him the gist of what happened last night. Well… he supposed he didn’t have to go into too much detail. He thought of the male stripper, the awkward touches, Jack’s weird rant to him in the car, falling asleep on his shoulder… He was still in denial of it, himself. There was no way he could explain that to his best friend, who just so happened to be the biggest Handsome Jack fan of all time.

“Well…” Vaughn began, hesitation drawing out his voice. “There was uh, an after party.”

“And was Jack there?”

“Oh, yeah.”

Rhys raised his brows.

“He… Got a little out of control. You know how Jack is. Say the wrong thing and go flying out the airlock.”

“He threw someone out the airlock?”

“God, no. No, no. I mean that he’s just...” he paused, drummed his fingers in thought “really erratic, you know?”

“Vaughn, if he killed a man you don’t have to break it to me gently. I may practically worship the guy, but I know what he’s like.”

“No one was killed!” Vaughn ran a hand through his hair, mildly exasperated (but relieved, because in hindsight, that was a definite possibility). “I’m just struggling to wrap my head around it still. Kind of weird watching your CEO drink himself stupid at a strip club and then snort something off a dancer’s ass.”

“Wait, what? You _saw_ that?”

“Well I missed that last part, but that’s basically what happened.”

Rhys stared at him a moment, eyes wide. Then he did something Vaughn didn’t expect.

He laughed.

“Hahaha, holy shit! That’s the greatest thing I’ve ever heard. _Wow_.”

Vaughn immediately relaxed in his chair, relief coursing through him in a sigh. 

Rhys wiped a tear from his eye. “But dude. Did he say anything to you?”

“Uh, like what?”

Rhys stared at him. “He did, didn’t he! Oh my god, you spoke to Handsome Jack!” Rhys’s hands gripped his shoulders, shaking him a bit. He felt nausea creeping back in his stomach at the sudden movement.

“Dude, hung over, remember?”

“Right, sorry. But bro, come on.”

“Okay, okay, yeah, he talked to me, but only like, a little. I basically just introduced myself and he couldn’t even remember my name.” He felt a pang of guilt at the lie, even if it was a partially true one. He didn’t even think he got his name right _once_ during the entire night.

“What’d he say?”

“He basically made fun of me for drinking through the entire banquet and for being an accountant.”

“Drinking through the banquet? Really, Vaughn? I’m surprised,” Rhys said, folding his arms in a look of mock-disapproval.

Vaughn rolled his eyes, suddenly feeling defensive. “I—I was nervous, okay? Not every day you get to see the murderous CEO of one of the most powerful companies in the galaxy in person, who also happens to be your boss.”

“Damn, dude. I _so_ wish I could’ve been there to see it.”

Vaughn shrugged. He didn’t feel like it was something to be envied, but he supposed he was glad it was him rather than his friend—Rhys, after all, got way stupider when drunk (or at the mere mention of Handsome Jack—and god forbid the two ever combine) than he ever did himself.

“Anyway, you wanna listen to the latest Vault Monster Factory ECHOcast?

“Yeah, dude, let’s,” Vaughn smiled, thankful his roommate changed the subject.

\----

 

Vaughn nearly forgot all about that eventful night by the time Monday rolled around and it was time to resume his work life. He arrived at his office ten minutes early to straighten out any leftover paper work and clear out his desk, forming a strategy over what needed to get done for the day. He settled in his chair and stretched, feeling totally refreshed. In fact, Vaughn found himself feeling rather chipper—hardly needing a second cup of coffee to stay awake, even catching himself humming quietly as he worked. Every now and then he took his tasks to the exercise bike he had recently put in his office, which helped him focus on some of the more monotonous parts of his job.

He took his lunch break, meeting up with Yvette and Rhys in the cafeteria as usual. The night of the banquet didn’t even come up in conversation, having completely slipped their minds, the three opting instead to chat about various ECHOcasts and the latest gossip involving their coworkers.

The rest of the day flew by easily enough. The workload was heavy—it always was—but it was mercifully less convoluted and rushed than what it normally was. At the end of the day, Vaughn leaned back to stretch his legs and a smile of satisfaction played across his face. He rose, grabbed his suitcase, and left the office to make his usual commute to the gym he visited bi-weekly.

Vaughn was scrawny and he knew it. He used to avoid working out in public spaces out of self-consciousness, but after getting over the initial paranoid feeling of being judged, he found going to the gym rewarding. He realized no one actually cared about his presence, and that there were plenty of people in all kinds of shapes, mostly focused on themselves and their own work out. Besides, it wasn’t like he was trying to bulk up or do anything serious, he just found it to be a good stress relief. Plus, you don’t move around too much as an accountant, and his doctor frequently warned him against the health risks of a sedentary lifestyle.

He went to his locker and changed into his workout clothes: tennis shoes, basketball shorts, and a t-shirt with a Hyperion logo on it. He stuffed his belongings away and went to the gym, warming up with a small amount of cardio (which he did mostly at his office now, anyway) before moving on to different machines to tone his legs, arms, back, and chest. After his brief work out, he went to a mat to do some stretches, and hit the showers before heading back home. It was Rhys’s turn to cook dinner, and his to do the dishes, and they joked and talked about work and had a mock-argument over how to best cook tresher.

Vaughn didn’t think about Handsome Jack at all until that evening when his head hit the pillow. It all came rushing back to him at once. The events of the night, and how embarrassed he felt about it all. He couldn’t help but wonder how Jack would react. Would he just continue on as if nothing had happened? He supposed he would. He didn’t see why not—but Vaughn couldn’t decide whether to expect to be thrown out an airlock or just plain ignored. He supposed it had been the latter, which he thought he’d felt a greater sense of relief over. Not that he desired to meet the business end of the air lock, but he wondered if Handsome Jack thought back on that night, too. If he even remembered. If he even cared. 

Vaughn scolded himself mentally. Of course he didn’t. He probably pulled stunts like that all the time. He was Handsome Fucking Jack. And he… he was just Vaughn. For him, it was a life altering, Pandora-shattering experience, but ultimately had no consequences because in the eyes of the infamous CEO, he was hardly a grain of sand in all the vast oceans that made up the galaxy. Vaughn fell asleep wondering if in the grand scheme of things, if it was better to be expendable or forgettable, or if there was ever a difference.

\----

Handsome Jack’s day was a fucking nightmare.

First, human resources. The banquet on Friday (ugh, did he really need another reminder of that disaster?) was great, and now they want one every year. Fine, whatever.

Second, more negotiations with Maliwan over an old Atlas mining facility on Promethea. That planet was a constant pain in Jack’s ass, but it was too valuable to put on the backburner.

Third, a bunch of boring paperwork to look over regarding various projects on Helios, Pandora, and Elpis. The usual, but the prior negotiations put Jack in a sour mood and made the task particularly agonizing that day.

And finally, the most important thing of all: his reputation. Hardly spotless, but each spot was a sinister glimmer in the vast galaxy that made him who he was. Which is, to put it in its simplest terms, a man not to be fucked with.

Logically he knew he had nothing to worry about. The events of Friday would never come to fruition among anyone else’s knowledge. And even if that little shit did run his mouth, who cares? Jack has nothing to hide or be ashamed of, and besides, no one would believe him. He’s done wild shit his entire life and that is part of what makes him so goddamn terrifying. 

Still, he couldn’t help the nagging feeling in the back of his brain. He tried ignoring it but it kept coming back like a scratch he couldn’t quite itch.

So he caved to his curiosity, and decided to monitor the little shit—what was his name again? Oh, right. _Vaughn_. It was no problem tracking him down, his name and employee ID already readily available since it was recorded among the banquet participants, and from there he kept one of his monitors on the camera footage that followed him around. An easy enough task, considering he kept cameras _everywhere_ on the space station.

The man was a giant bore, for which Jack felt partially relief and partial disappointment in. He went to his work, did his job, used that weird ugly bicycle thingy in his office. Socialized like a normal human being, though only to a small extent. He eavesdropped on their conversation, but found himself unable to pay attention to the boring droll of office drama (unless someone was getting murdered, he couldn’t care less who slept with who) and nerdspeak. 

He checked up on him now and again, but for the most part busied himself with all the other endless tasks that piled up on his desk. He pestered his assistant, who would fetch him whatever files, or contact info, or coffee he needed with the occasional _look_ but never a complaint. 

By the end of the day he was so exhausted he didn’t even feel up to strangling someone, or down the trap door installed in the floor of his office, or anything. Instead, he sipped his now lukewarm seventh or so cup of coffee as he watched the camera feed trained on his little subject.

He was leaving the office now, dutifully on time. Part of him wondered if he knew he was being watched, and had acted like the model employee to play the part—but he knew that was impossible. He supposed that not all of them were little slackers and rats, after all. For that, he gave him credit—but he wasn’t giving up his grudge yet. He betrayed to him information that, no matter how puny and insignificant the man seemed, felt like a stain on his conscience.

Jack mulled over where he’d go next. Likely straight home. How sad, he thought. He lived this boring day-to-day life, nothing ever changing, yet like a dutiful servant attending his tasks perfectly. It assuaged his feelings over that night a little—but still, not completely.

He was surprised when the rat—uh, Vaughn—showed up at the front door of a gym. He couldn’t suppress the loud “Hah!” that exploded out his throat, and he sat up in his chair with a smirk. Oh, this is gonna get _good_.

But by the time he hit the locker room he was no longer laughing. He expected the awkward way he walked in, his stiff movements that screamed he was out of place, just a little nerd destined for pushing papers, not lifting weights.

He did not expect that when Vaughn started undressing, his stuffy clothing somehow managed to hide all that _beef_. He spat his coffee right across his screen, which he wiped off with a scowl.

“What the fuck?”

Instead of the skinny little twig he thought he’d see, his eyes were met instead by sinewy arms that curved up his shoulders—far from broad but well-defined—back muscles that arched and relaxed with every movement, powerful pectorals that drew his gaze downward, and sweet mother of Pandora, the abs of a Greek _god_.

He was too stunned to look away, the man before him undressing (oh no, of course he had to have thighs and calves and even an _ass_ to match), and redressing, walking into the gym calmly. Jack felt almost entranced by his workout, the flexing of his biceps as he lifted weights over his head, the way his shorts rode up his thighs when he did leg presses, the movement of his chest as he used the pectoral fly machine, the way his ass jutted out as he squatted down with heavier weighs on his shoulders. His hair slick with sweat, sticking to his face, flushed from the effort. The content little smile (oh shit, were those _dimples_?) on his face as he swung a towel over his neck and went back to the locker room.

By the time he hit the showers, Jack couldn’t take it any more. He turned off the feed, running a hand down his face, only to realize he, too, was flushed, and his mouth was dry, and—goddamnit, he was _hard_. 

“Shit. Shit. Shit shit fuck,” he cursed, clenching a fist against his desk.

He could not believe this. First he has to talk to this little nerd and somehow manage to make a drunken fool of himself, next he has to actually be _attracted_ to him? This pathetic dork? This skinny (well—maybe not _skinny_ ) little nobody?

He grit his teeth, but couldn’t deny himself. He turned the feed back on, relaxing back in his chair as he opened a drawer in his desk to fumble for a bottle and unzipped his pants. He tried thinking less about how disgusting he felt, and how disappointed he was in himself, and more on the way Vaughn’s features relaxed under the warm spray of the shower head, and how his broad hands moved up and down his toned body to wash away the sweat and grime, and how he ran his fingers through his thick hair and out of his face, and how the water washed over his eyelashes and down his parted lips, and he couldn’t help but think of those lips on his, of that face on his pillow, of those hands over his skin and that body moving against his.

His breath hitched as he felt himself cum, biting his lip and chasing the rush of endorphins. He grasped a tissue to take care of the mess, and sighed with a shiver. He slouched back in his chair, throwing the tissue in the bin beneath his desk and tucking himself back in his pants as he opened his eyes to watch the screen. Vaughn was home now, blissfully unaware of the show he just put on. Jack blinked slowly, suddenly feeling exhausted.

His eyes snapped open again when another figure came on screen. Wait, who was that? He expected the loser (well—he couldn’t exactly call the man he just jacked off to a _loser_ ) to just live alone. But instead, some long string bean of a man greeted him—one of the people he ate lunch with earlier, and he was smiling and cooking something over a stove. He furrowed his brows, frowning as he watched the scene unfold. They were talking, again about inconsequential shit—work and the like—but mostly banter he couldn’t quite follow. It was so… _domestic_. They’d laugh and tease each other while performing their tasks, cooking and cleaning and so forth. They seemed perfectly content to do so while in each other’s company. They were so… so at ease in their simple coexistence.

Jack didn’t like it. He didn’t like it one bit.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm alive! And somehow, managed to wade through a shit load of dialogue. Enjoy!


End file.
